If it Weren't for the Baby
by calypseo
Summary: 'Two kids from District 12, oh, oh, oh. If they could overthrow President Snow and his Game, who's to stop us from doing the same' This child would act as a flag—to show the districts that this isn't an act." / R&R? / 'T' because it's the Hunger Games. / Plus a moody Katniss! [ON HOLD]


**_If it Weren't for the Baby_**

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**Title: **If it Weren't for the Baby.

**Summary: **"'Two kids from District 12, oh, oh, oh. If they could overthrow President Snow and his Game, who's to stop us from doing the same?' This child would act as a flag—to show the districts that this isn't an act." / R&R

**Rating: **'T', because... well... it's The Hunger Games.

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_**If it Weren't for the Baby  
Chapter One**_

When I wake up, the nausea of pregnancy immediately assaults me. Like the last few weeks' attacks haven't been enough for the baby inside of me at the moment. Peeta and mine's child. Our baby girl.

I launch into the bathroom and only barely manage to get the seat up before I'm vomiting up whatever I had eaten last night. The taste is awful, and peculiarly squirrel-like, even though I don't think I ate squirrel.

My little sister and healer, Prim, is here in only a moment and is holding my hair behind my head and is rubbing my back. "It's okay, Katniss," she says softly. Give it to Prim to make a forced pregnancy sound like a simple bump in the road.

But remembering it was forced brings it all down hard again.

I entered the seventy-fourth Hunger Games last year. The Hunger Games is a yearly event, hosted by a man who changes colors every year named Caesar Flickerman. The game is made to give the Capitol, and more specifically President Snow, entertainment, and the satisfaction of watching twenty-three children die every year.

In the twelve districts of Panem, the annual "Reaping" takes place in the districts' Town Square. Or, that's where it does in District 12, anyway. At the reaping, the district's escort is required to draw two names from two bowls. One containing every boys' name between the ages of twelve and eighteen, and another containing each girls' between the same ages. In my case, Prim was reaped. And so I volunteered, because what else was I supposed to do besides let her die? And Peeta Mellark was reaped.

Each year, there is also a stage called the Interviews. In the interviews with Caesar, each of the twenty-four tributes is to try to 'wow' the Capitol citizens, who could serve as that tribute's sponsor in the Games. Cinna, my stylist, had turned me into a giggling flame, and Peeta had honestly stunned everyone. Caesar had asked if he had 'a girl back home,' and Peeta had told him (after a few hesitations) that he had a crush on me. Since the age of five, I learned in the cave.

And the rest is history. Except for the rule change that had said two victors (if originating from the same district) could victor from the same Games. Peeta and I allied, and when we were the final two, the rule change was provoked. With nightlock (a poisoned berry made by the Capitol), we'd threatened the both of our deaths, and managed to escape.

From there, I thought everything would be fine. I thought I could return to my normal life—hunting with Gale, taking care of Prim... Well, I was wrong. Dead wrong.

President Snow had visited. He knew that my affection toward Peeta was something made up, that only existed in him, and had made a very, very specific request.

"I want you to conceive a child," he said. I remember being stunned, and a bit weirded, since I didn't know what exactly he was talking about. And so he was a bit more specific. "With the boy, Peeta."

"What? Why?" I questioned, already terrified by the thought.

Snow just grinned and messed with the white rose in his lapel. He leaned back in the desk chair and explained. "There has been talk," he said, "in the districts. About how they 'know' the Star-Crossed Lovers act is a big piece of bologna. And there have been outrages. The Peacekeepers in Eleven, mostly, have complained to me of threatened uprisings."

My eyebrows furrowed. "Uprisings?"

"Yes, Katniss. Uprisings," he said. "Acts of rebellion, perhaps?" I winced. "And it is all because of that berry act. 'Two kids from District 12, oh, oh, oh. If they could overthrow President Snow and his Game, who's to stop us from doing the same?'" He got this dark look about him and I knew he hated my existence at that moment and after. "And so, this child would act as a flag—to show the districts that this isn't an act."

He leaned forward on his arms so that I could smell the roses and blood on his breath.

"I want you to convince the country of your love for him," he whispered harshly.

I fought the gag and choked words out. "How is that even possible? To convince _everyone_?"

He leaned back into his seat. "Or maybe I'll give you a different target," he said, picking up his tea and taking a quick sip. "Convince _me_." And the next thing I knew, he was telling me I had a month to decide or face the consequence or denying him the action. He also gave a curt, "Tell your mother I said thank you for the tea."

And then he was gone.

It took a lot of will power to tell Peeta and Haymitch of Snow's plan, and they had gone wide-eyed. Peeta looked like he could throw up or break into tears, or something dramatic, and Haymitch looked a bit awkward with the topic, too.

But he told us to do what we had to do, and then scurried toward his home in the Victor's Village, leaving Peeta to gape at me. But, within a month, I was announced pregnant.

"I know, Prim," I manage in a whisper. It's all up, thank the Lord, and I flush it down.

She nods and helps me up. "Do you need anything? I mean... I could help cook something, if you're hungry," she offers. I smile as I rinse out my mouth. There's that odd craving again, for pancakes, but I won't let Prim make it.

"Thanks, little duck, but I can get it," I tell her, giving her a lopsided hug.

She smiles slightly and returns it. "Okay. If you need anything, though..."

I laugh. "Go back to bed, it's too early for you to be up," I whisper.

She nods and smiles at me again before hurrying back to her room. I wait until I hear a door shut when I let out the groan I'd been stifling. How do women even _begin_ to do this? But I guess it's easier when someone is at least age appropriate to bare a child. I'm seventeen. That feels too young.

I shake off the thoughts, though, and move into the kitchen and make the pancakes that I crave. I'm just beginning to get the pan out when a quiet knock on the door pulls my attention away.

_Can't people see I'm trying to make something?_

I grunt and move to the door. I pull it open to find none other than Peeta. He gives me a sort of awkward smile. "Hey, um... need any help?" he asks.

I pause. "With what?" I ask.

He shrugs slightly. "You _do _get cravings, right? Or am I being stupid?" I bite my lip and nod once. He grins. "Need any help making something to suit your craving?"

I pause to consider. There's no doubt the pancakes I make will end up blackened and will probably taste like a foot. I wince and pull the door open a little bit more. He chuckles softly and pecks my cheek before moving into the kitchen.

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_(A/N): Okay, okay; before you sue me for having the worst fanfiction in the history of it all, I'm new at this, okay? Also, I'm pretty much dying of excitement for The Host and SOM, so... don't hate. If you DO have any concerns/praises for the story, review it? (Please?) :)_

_-lovetoinfinity_


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